There's an impossible amount of clothes in Andy's closet. Graphic tees overflow from the shelves; a dazzling assortment of vests and sweaters spill off the tangled hangers; and an explosion of basketball jerseys, leg warmers, and mismatched shoes clutter the floor.
"How do you find anything here?" I ask, trying not to gawk. I don't think I've owned more than three shelves of clothes in my life.
"I have a system," Andy says proudly. "What do you want to wear? I'm a few sizes bigger than you, but we can make it work."
I consider trying on the same outfit I borrowed for Rachel's open house, but that seems too formal for a party. "I don't know. Just pick something out for me."
"Say no more!" Andy disappears into the mess, triumphantly reemerging with a colorful t-shirt, the band name The Replacements splashed across the front. She tosses me a leather skirt to pair with it. (I choose, out of respect for our friendship, not to argue.)
It takes Andy several outfit changes to decide on a pair of baggy orange pants and a sequin top that looks like a disco ball. As she's putting the final touches on her eye make-up, I head down to the kitchen to call the ranch.
"Please tell me you're going out tonight," Ronan says, picking up on the second ring. "I'm languishing from boredom over here."
"Did Floyd say it was okay for you to leave with your sling?"
"Who cares? If anything happens to it, you can just heal me again, right? I'm joking, I'm joking! But if you don't tell me where this party is, I swear I will wander the streets until I find one."
Andy's stepmom opens the fridge to grab a banana; I wave awkwardly at her. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm Andy's latest girlfriend. (Which would be a lot easier to explain if I wasn't wearing her clothes.) "Okay, yes, we're going out tonight. Is Finn still grounded?"
"Let me ask him. Finn, bro -- you still under house arrest? He says tonight is his last night."
There's some muffled arguing in the background. Finn's voice crackles through the static. "I'm sick of it! I'm sick of my parents acting like they know everything..." And then: "... not going out alone with a sling... and don't say you're feeling better!"
"Well, that was easy," Ronan says cheerfully. "Finn is un-grounding himself. We're sneaking out tonight. Now, before you start saying responsible shit like, 'don't sneak out of the house on the last night of being grounded", let me remind you that I am languishing. So, what's the address?"
There's no point in arguing with Ronan when he's made up his mind. Or Finn, for that matter. I give him the details, tell them to be careful, and hang up.
Andy's stepmom tries to look very interested in her banana and not at all like she was listening in on our conversation. "You're going out tonight? With Andy?"
"It's, uh, a study party," I say.
I get the feeling she doesn't believe me.
***
"I'm pretty sure your mom thinks we're dating," I say, as we pass the lines of cars parked bumper to bumper outside Chris's house. (He lives on the opposite side of town, in a white brick house with a two-car garage that takes its Greek pillars very seriously. Andy was furious when she found out Oliver already took the Volkswagen for the night.)
"Stepmom," she corrects me. "And she probably thinks you're an improvement. She was chill enough when I came out, but you're the first girl she hasn't lectured me about."
I decide to take that as a compliment.
We join the line of people waiting on the porch. While Chris's spacious lawn may not be good for the environment, it's perfect for a rowdy party. I can tell that nobody is worried about getting busted by the cops for a noise complaint. Rock music blasts through the open windows, and car horns honk as friends from school reunite. Andy introduces me to at least a dozen of her peers by the time we make it through the front door.
Look, I've been to some wild parties in my life, but the Dusty Valley kids here must have way too much free time and cash to burn, because the inside of Chris's house is pure chaos. Even though Andy and I showed up half an hour late, the other party-goers are stumbling around and hollering drunken karaoke like they've been taking shots since noon.
A boy with a tie wrapped around his head shoves past me, making it halfway down the porch stairs before he leans over the railing and pukes into an ornamental bush. As if I wasn't already aware that this wasn't going to be a normal night, Andy sighs and says, "Ugh, Joey does that at every party. Wanna get drinks?"
Getting drinks sounds preferable to doing what everyone else is doing, so I follow Andy into the living room. Wedged between two pillars is a punch bowl full of dubious red liquid, with a sign warning "don't drink the Kool-Aid" and "there will be no survivors".
I wrinkle my nose at the second sign. "That's... tasteful."
"Welcome to high society," Andy says, as a boy wearing an over-sized Lakers jersey cracks open a keg with a screwdriver, hooting in delight as white foam cascades across the shag carpet. "It doesn't get more tasteful than this."
Before I can determine if the punch is worth the damage to my liver, Jackson appears out of thin air, a handle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of Grape Fanta in the other. "You came!" he shouts. "Rock on. Have you tried the punch? You have got to try the punch!"
He pours two cups without waiting for an answer. There's no way I'm making it through tonight sober, so I take a cautious sip of the toxic red liquid -- and, to my surprise, it's actually good. Really good. It tastes like someone melted down Hubba Bubba gum and spiked it with soda fizz.
"Is there alcohol in this?" asks Andy, raising her voice to be heard over Parliament's "Give Up The Funk" blasting from the speakers (because it wouldn't be a party if it wasn't).
Jackson belts out a laugh. "Oh, it's gonna fuck you up! Didn't you read the sign?"
Andy takes a longer swig, then demands, "What the hell is in this, you sorcerer?"
"Confidential recipe! But I can tell you one thing -- it's all about the sherbet, okay? You gotta find that balance between sweet and sour --"
"Yo, Son of Jack!" a frat-bro voice hollers from the sofa. "You got two chicks now? I thought you were still sweet on Cassie!"
"You know the ladies can't keep their hands off me!"
"All right, all right..."
Jackson flashes us an apologetic look. "Sorry! I've a reputation to uphold -- Hill, you know how it is! Anyway, if you need anything, just ask. I'm your man!"
He wades over to the sofa, alternating between sips of grape soda and vodka. One of his friends jams a trucker hat with the word "BABES" blazed across the brim onto his head. The DJ -- I'm assuming there's a DJ, no self-respecting radio station would ever play Martika and Great White back-to-back -- until I can feel the bass pounding in my rib-cage. I take a sip of punch, but the sugary-sweet taste mixes with the tang of sweat and cheap beer in the air, making my stomach turn.
"Doesn't it ever bother you?" I ask Andy. "The way he talks to you?"
"I don't care. I got used to it a while ago."
"You shouldn't have to," I say.
Andy starts to respond, but she's distracted by a blonde girl wearing a neon-yellow tank top. "Oh, Lila, hey --"
The girl murmurs something in Andy's ear, then grabs the cup from her hand and throws it back like she needs the liquid courage. Andy blushes -- actually blushes -- and I take that as my cue to leave.
"I'll catch up with you later," I tell her. Then I shove through the bouncing mess of high schoolers, chugging the rest of my punch along the way.
The porch door slams shut behind me. There's no moon out, but the stars are bright enough to illuminate a couple making out against the garage door. Ugh. If the night goes on like this, I don't know if I'll be able to drink enough of Jackson's cursed punch to erase the memory from my mind...
A jolt of movement in the corner of my eye distracts me from my drink. I glance over just in time to see -- someone tumbling over the backyard fence?
From the ruins of a shrub, Finn Murphy leaps to his feet, slapping dirt off his jeans. He gives the stoners a sheepish look as he limps to the porch, then does a double-take when he sees me standing at the top of the stairs. "Becca? What are you doing here?"
I raise my eyebrows at him. "I invited you to this party, remember?"
"I remember. I didn't think you'd actually show up."
"Me? Aren't you the one who's grounded for life?"
"Yeah." Finn is still staring at me as if I'm the last person he expected to see at a party. (Do my friends really assume I'm incapable of having fun? Am I incapable of having fun?) "I thought you... I thought I could sneak out without my parents noticing. I'll be home before midnight."
"You can do whatever you want, Cinderella. I'm not your keeper."
He raises his eyebrows at me, then points at my cup. "You're drinking?"
"I'm not drunk." Yet. Jackson wasn't exaggerating about the punch. "Where's Ronan? I didn't know he was capable of turning down free alcohol."
This makes him laugh. "He's not. I went over the fence because Chris's neighbors are friends with my parents, and I'd bet ten bucks they're keeping track of everyone who walks through the front door. You know how it is with small towns. If Dusty Valley had a slogan, it would be 'because there's nothing better to do'."
"Yeah, I figured that one out." I take aim at one of the trash cans by the garage, landing my cup inside the container with a metallic clang. The couple startles and breaks apart. "Want to get more drinks?"
"More drinks?"
"Actually, forget the drinks. Want to do shots?"
"Uh, I guess --"
I swing open the door, and the obnoxious music drowns out the rest of his words. We head to the kitchen -- there's a disco ball hanging from the light fixture, and someone with their head in the sink -- and fill a pair of Vegas shot glasses with Advocaat, the only bottle left in the cabinet.
"Classy," Finn remarks.
We clink our glasses together and throw them back. The liquor is smooth enough that we don't need a chaser, but Finn grimaces as if he swallowed lemon juice.
I poke him in the shoulder. "Lightweight."
"Fuck off," he says, laughing as he pours us a second round. "It's strong."
"You are such a grandparent!"
"I'm pretty sure grandparents are the only ones drinking this shit, so..."
We're four shots in when Finn says he's going to hurl if he keeps drinking liquor, so we make our way through the living room/dance floor to find the punch table. The DJ must be taking requests, because the music blasting from the speakers is "This Time I Know It's For Real", and against all odds, I feel my mood start to lift.
"Are we still friends?" Finn asks me. He has to yell to be heard, which attracts a few weird looks.
"I didn't steal a motorboat for you to be acquaintances," I say. "Why? Is this going to be one of those nights where you keep asking me stupid questions?"
"No! I just wanted to say that I'm glad you visited Dusty Valley this summer, Becca. I missed having you around."
"You're drunk."
Finn shakes his head at me, but he can't hide his smile. "I tried."
We pass by Ronan on the stairs, letting people sign his sling and grinning as he says, "you should see the other guy..." Then we cross paths with a red-faced Andy as she returns from wherever she disappeared with Lila -- "there's lipstick on your neck," Finn points out -- and suddenly, Jackson is pouring us more punch, and when Finn asks if I want to dance, I say yes, even though he's the worst dancer ever, even worse than me.
"That guy is totally checking you out!" Finn tells me in between songs. "You should ask him to dance."
I spare a glance over my shoulder. There's a dark-haired guy sitting next to Chris on the couch, with soulful brown eyes straight out of a boy band poster and the self-confidence to pull off an unbuttoned Henley. Sure, he's alright, but he's not looking at me. There's a pretty girl on his right that keeps grinning and touching his shoulder.
"I think he's taken!" I yell over the music.
"He's not into her!" says Finn, and sure enough, Henley glances at us and smiles -- in a sort of ah, you caught me way -- when our eyes meet.
"Shit, he's walking over here." I elbow Finn in the ribs; he's trying, and failing, not to smirk. "This isn't funny! I did not ask for you to be my wingman tonight."
Finn laughs so hard he snorts. Which makes him laugh even harder. "Just ask him if he's having fun!"
"Really? That's your best idea? You've got to be --"
And then Henley is standing in front of me. "Hey."
"Hi." I have to elbow Finn again to make him stop giggling.
"I like your shirt," Henley says. "What's your favorite Replacements song?"
"It belongs to a friend," I tell him.
"I haven't heard that one before!" My expression must be priceless, because the boy grins and says, "Kidding, I swear. What's your name?"
I was expecting some stupid, drunken pick-up line, but as far as I can tell, the boy is drinking water, and he mainly seems eager to escape his conversation with the girl on the couch. I weigh the pros and cons of giving him my name, and then decide that if Ronan and Andy are going to flirt all night, and Finn is on the verge of pulling a Joey, it couldn't hurt to make a new, sober friend.
"Becca," I say. "What's yours?"
"I'm Kiran." He extends a hand for me to shake. "Where do you go to college?"
"What makes you think I'm a college student?"
"I don't know, you look like you have your life together. And that was a very professional handshake."
"I just graduated high school," I say. There's a lull in the music, so I don't have to shout to be heard. Luckily, Finn is too distracted by Ferris Bueller's Day Off playing on one of the TV sets to bother interrupting. "College is still up in the air."
"C'mon, you don't have a reach school? A dream university?"
"You first," I say, thinking about the shredded acceptance letter at the bottom of my trash can. "Which Ivy League claimed your heart?"
"Yale," Kiran says, without blinking. "But don't hold it against me. I had to defer for a year. Family business."
"How mysterious."
"I can't help it. We deal in secrets." I can't tell if he's joking or being serious as he adds, "Expensive ones."
"Really?" I take a sip of my punch. "Tell me a secret, then. An expensive one."
"You couldn't afford it."
"I'll trade you. Even-steven."
"Very well." Kiran thinks on this for a second, then lowers his voice and says, "I'm not from around here. I crashed this party because I'm looking for someone."
"I'm not from around here, either," I say.
Kiran opens his mouth, like he wants to keep talking, but then the speakers start blasting Van Halen and the time for sharing secrets is over. He shrugs and smiles at me. I take another sip of punch.
Finn must've caught the last bit of our conversation, because he turns to Kiran and yells over the music, "I grew up in Dusty Valley. Who're you looking for?"
"My sister, actually! She has a knack for getting mixed up into trouble, so my parents sent me to check on her."
"Lots of that going around lately. Trouble, I mean, not parents."
Kiran looks intrigued. "What kind of trouble?"
"You're not going to believe this, but we --"
I step on his sneaker, and he stops mid-sentence to glare at me. "Hey, can you get me a refill?" I ask, shoving my drink into his hand.
"Why? It's not even empty --"
"Maybe some of us need to do more drinking and less talking."
Finn grumbles something and heads over to the punch table. He's bumping into party-goers left and right, but he seems more distracted than drunk -- and when I follow his gaze, I see that it's not Ferris Bueller he's watching.
Ronan is still letting drunk high schoolers sign his cast, but when he looks up, he grins and waves. He points to where one of his adoring fans scrawled their phone number and mouths something I decide not to decipher.
"Is your friend okay?" Kiran asks.
He must've mistaken my staring for concern. I mean, I am a little concerned about Finn's behavior. The last few weeks have been rough on him. Maybe it's good that he has something else on his mind...
"Yeah," I say, glancing away. I really shouldn't be that surprised. Last summer, I thought Finn and Ronan would never stop hating each other. But I guess hatred is just another form of obsession. "We'll take care of him."
Finn suddenly swerves away from the punch table, and I think that the night might be over -- until I see that he's moving to meet someone at the door. Talia waves back at him, fashionably late in a pair of black jeans and a crocheted tank-top.
She scans the crowd, smiling when I wave at her. Then her expression darkens. Before I can process what's happening, she shoves a girl out of the way and makes a beeline towards where Kiran and I are standing by the punch table.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Talia demands, loud enough that the people around us stop dancing to turn and stare. The DJ scrambles to turn the music down. "I thought I made it clear that I didn't want your help!"
Kiran smiles pleasantly at her, as if he was expecting this. "What happened to 'how are you doing' or 'it's good to see you, my favorite sibling'?"
"You're not my favorite sibling."
"I'm your only sibling."
Talia jabs a finger at his chest. "You are so dead!"
"Please, let's not make a scene," says Kiran, though I can tell he's enjoying the theatrics. "We can be civil about this."
"Let's see if you can be civil when I wring your neck with that stupid shirt." Talia finally spares me a cursory glance, and a curt, "Sorry you had to put up with his bullshit, Fisher. If anybody asks, I'm not related to him."
Kiran presses a hand against his heart in mock offense. "I was concerned about you, sis. There's been a lot of talk about Dusty Valley lately --"
"And of course you had to get involved. This is so typical! You're always meddling in my business, trying to take credit for my achievements --"
"Achievements? You mean your part-time waitress job?"
Talia looks ready to take a swing. I debate stepping in, but it's not worth the risk of getting punched in the face. "Get out of my way, Kiran. And get the hell out of this town."
"Or what? You'll call mom and dad? They're the ones who sent me here."
To her credit, Talia doesn't falter. "You're lying."
"Why would I lie to you?" Kiran asks. The slightest smile tugs at his lips. "We're on the same side, sis. We used to make a pretty good team."
Her hands clench into fists. Kiran's pretty face is saved by an unlikely miracle -- Jackson appears out of nowhere, still holding his bottle of Grape Fanta, like Casper the Very Drunk Ghost. "Yo, Talia, you didn't tell me that you had a brother! Rock on!"
"Pleasure to meet you," Kiran says, just as Talia exclaims, "Fuck off, Jackson!"
Jackson holds up his hands, taking a step back -- except he's off-balance, and he steps too far back, and it's at the point in the night where nobody is sober enough to prevent him from toppling like a building hit by a wrecking ball.
Okay, maybe I'm sober enough. And maybe I'm standing close enough to catch him as he tips over -- but who can truly say? It's a party. Accidents happen all the time.
Jackson's eyes widen. His stupid hat flies off his head. And, with a deafening crash, he lands directly on top of his beloved punch bowl.
Red alcohol sprays everywhere. Chris and his friends scramble off the couch, but it's too late for damage control. The party goes dead silent as Jackson -- with the "There will be no survivors" sign plastered to his shirt -- drags himself out of the wreckage of the punch table.
He raises his Grape Fanta into the air, and I can almost hear Simple Minds playing in the background. "This is..." he declares, "the best summer party ever!"
***
"It's time to go," I say, hauling Finn away from the punch bowl. Talia follows, probably trying to put as much distance between herself and her brother as possible. Plastic cups and beer cans crunch underfoot; I catch an elbow in the ribs as the music returns full force. "This party is about to get busted."
"What do you mean?" Finn demands. "Did you not see that guy jump into the juice bowl? The party is only getting started!"
"It's almost two in the morning, Fish. Parties never last longer than two in the morning. The neighbors probably called the cops when they heard everyone screaming about Jackson's nosedive."
"We need to find Ronan and Andy," Finn insists. After nearly tripping over his own shoelaces, he adds, "And a glass of water. That punch did not go down well. My stomach is starting to feel like that scene from Alien."
We're halfway to the door when it happens -- first, the telltale murmurs, then the crowds at the windows, and finally, the unmistakable, "COPS!"
"Yeah, this party is busted," says Talia, who looks like she could care less if the police barged in and arrested everyone. "Let's get the hell out of here."
As everyone else is rushing out to the street, Talia shows us a short-cut to the kitchen. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see Kiran following, but he's long gone. I don't waste any time searching for him. It seems like he can take care of himself.
Ronan and Andy catch up with us in the backyard. Ronan's tinted sunglasses are hanging lopsided on his face, and there are more signatures than empty space on his sling. He looks like he's having the time of his life. "I take back everything I've said about Dusty Valley. I love this town!"
Talia scowls at the lipstick smudge on Andy's neck. "Didn't take you long, did it?"
"You're one to talk," Andy snaps. Her disco-ball top is missing some sequins. "Secret brother? Really?"
When we get to the fence, Talia is tall enough to pull herself over, but I have to lace my fingers together to give Andy a boost. They're still arguing when they land on the other side.
Finn takes one look at the six-foot-tall fence and sits down in the grass. He puts his head between his knees and groans. "Just let them take me to jail."
"Finn. Fish. Fishy Boy. Get up. Alcohol poisoning isn't a good look on you." Ronan nudges him with a Converse, then sighs and turns to me. "A little help?"
"Oh, get out of the way, Lockwood," I say. But I don't have it in me to be mad at him. On nights like these, I can't help but fall in love with this town a little bit, too. "I'm not fixing your shoulder twice."